


Returns

by amanitamuscaria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanitamuscaria/pseuds/amanitamuscaria
Summary: Going back may sometimes be going forward.A fic I wrote for the Back to Hogwarts fest in 2010.





	

Harry considered the Great Hall from his seat beside Professor McGonagall at the high table, and shook his head at his daughter's perspicacity. James and Al were bright, each in their own way, but neither had spotted what Lily in her first Christmas break home had told him.   
  


* * * * *

  
"Dad, you know you had five boys in your year in Gryffindor?"  
  
"Yes, that's right. I've told you about Uncle Ron, Neville, -"  
  
"Mm. And there were four other girls along with Aunt Hermione?"  
  
"Yes, she's told you about them."  
  
He wasn't sure where this was leading; all his children, and Ron and Hermione's, had grown up with the stories of Hogwarts.  
  
"All the House years were five girls and five boys, right?"  
  
"Yes, now you come to mention it. I hadn't thought how even the divisions were."  
  
"But all the Houses filled up the tables, didn't they?"  
  
"They did, when they were all there together."  
  
"Well now, we only fill half the table."  
  
"What, Gryffindor?"  
  
"No, dad. Each House. There are only three boys and three girls in each lower House class. The Seventh, and the Sixth years, there's four. I think."  
  
"Really. Why's that?"  
  
"Dunno. But the castle's really big. I miss you."   
  


* * * * *

  
He'd determined to speak to McGonagall, but the holidays were full of visits to the Burrow, and then a panicked rumour about a resurgence of Death Eaters kept him busy at work. It wasn't until May that he thought about it again.  
  
He'd managed to get to his son's final Quidditch match, James playing Chaser against a strong Ravenclaw team, after promising and failing to turn up to previous games.  
  
He'd been welcomed by Minerva and Hooch and Flitwick, but the stands seemed oddly bare, his eyes kept searching for Hagrid, Malfoy, Snape, and the cheering for the teams was torn away by the strong breeze.  
  
Sitting with his former Head of House, he saw Gryffindor trounced, though James and the other chasers put up a good effort. The Ravenclaw Seeker swooped on the snitch and the game was won.  
  
Having congratulated James on his flying and been relieved to hear him enthuse about the skills of Isabella, the Ravenclaw Seeker, he left his children to console themselves in defeat and followed the Headmistress up to the familiar office. Once Minerva had settled him in a comfy chair with a cup of tea, she looked at him sharply and said, "You're not keeping at all well, are you?"  
  
"Work's been pretty hard recently."  
  
"How long has it been since Ginny -?"  
  
"Three years, last March."  
  
His tone shut down the questions.  
  
She squeezed his hand, and he suddenly found himself wondering if she'd lost anyone in the last war, or the one before. He'd never thought to ask before, but she was saying something consoling, and perhaps it wasn't the right moment.  
  
"Why are there so few students in the school?"  
  
She looked taken aback by the sudden change of subject.  
  
"Well, many were killed in the war, and many went to Azkaban."  
  
"So it is true, that there are less Wizarding folk?"  
  
"Ye-es, although it's also the case that we're not getting all the children letters go out to."  
  
"Why?"  
  
She didn't meet his eyes. "Some are going to Beauxbatons, some are being home schooled."  
  
"Why would people do that?"  
  
"Hogwarts has been the focus of two wars, the last one fought on the grounds and in the school. People are wary. We haven't been able to attract the level of staff either, to fill our vacancies."  
  
"What teachers are you looking for, for next year?"  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him, "Why? Thinking of applying for a teaching post, Mr. Potter?"  
  
"Would it help, or hinder, do you think?"  
  
"Hm - probably help. If you are serious, we will be looking for a Defence teacher, and your years as an Auror would suit you well for the position."  
  
"I think it might well be time for a change. Let me have a think, talk to Kingsley. Can I owl you in a week?"   
  


* * * * *

  
The change, Harry thought, would only do him good. He'd been moping around the house since Lily had gone to Hogwarts, spending his nights on the sofa in the sitting room to avoid the bedroom he'd shared with Ginny for so many years. Now Lily was at Hogwarts, too, it seemed as if it was time he started doing something with the rest of his life. He'd reached dead-end after dead-end in his search for meaning in Ginny's death, and he knew if he didn't stop brooding over it his children would suffer. Hell, they were already suffering - Lily was soft-spoken and careful around him, when he could remember her being loud and tomboyish, and James would take Al and Lily outside, or shush them if he started rubbing his brow, started to feel the headache coming on.  
  
He realized with a start that his children had been caring for him for the last - how long? It probably had begun after the first few months, after that first shock had worn off. He determined to do better for them, and handed in his resignation to Kingsley.   
  


* * * * *

  
"Oh, no; we don't have Potions in the dungeons. It's only Slytherin and the Hufflepuffs down there, and there's miles of deserted corridors and empty old classrooms. It's really spooky," Lily told him cheerfully. His first week at Hogwarts, she waited after classes to speak to him every day. The bustle of the school swept him along, and being surrounded by children kept him from dwelling on the recent past. He found himself seeing the sweep of a black cloak disappearing round corners, however, and hoped that he wasn't reviving an old obsession. He still had dreams of the gloomy, dusty Shack, the white face straining towards him, the blood bright on the floorboards, Snape's eyes as they lost their fierce burning intensity and became blank, black, sightless...   
  


* * * * *

  
He felt drawn to go down the steps from the entrance hall, follow the footsteps of his schoolboy self down the deserted corridors.  
  
"Are you lost, Sir?"  
  
He started at the form of address, still not used to it.  
  
"No - no, I just used to have classes down here, when I was a student."  
  
"There are no classes down here now. It's very easy to get lost in the dungeons."  
  
The boy was James's age, dark haired; he seemed to be standing in shadow and Harry couldn't make out his face clearly.  
  
"Yes; thank you, Mr -?"  
  
"Grey. I'm Grey."  
  
"Well, thank you, Mr. Grey. I'll see you at supper."  
  
The boy moved his head, and as Harry turned, he seemed to melt into the wall.  
  
Harry shook himself. Well, maybe the boy was a ghost he hadn't met, perhaps a new ghost from the war.   
  


* * * * *

  
He found the old map in the attic at home, though he realized with a start that he thought less and less of this house, where he and Ginny had lived, where their children had been born and had grown, he thought less of this as home now. Hogwarts, where they all were now, all of them who remained, was where he felt at home. Maybe it was returning to his childhood, but the castle had changed - so few students, such small classes - and he had changed more.   
  


* * * * *

  
He went down to the dungeons with the Marauders' Map, but it didn't seem to work as before; he tried using it in the rest of the castle, but there, too, it seemed as if parts of the map were missing, or perhaps the castle had changed. There were blank areas, and some of the corridors and staircases on the map didn't exist. Harry sighed, and put the map away in a drawer. He'd have a proper look at it when he had some time.   
  


* * * * *

  
Learning how to teach and control a classroom was very different to teaching the DA or new Aurors, Harry had found. Neville was a good source of advice; Minerva had been teaching so long she'd forgotten how difficult some of the basics were. But preparing for classes took a great deal out of Harry, and the few times he'd been tempted to set a test or essay in class had backfired when he'd looked at the mountain of marking on his desk. He sighed, thinking that he did see more of his children, but not a great deal more. No, that was wrong, he saw them every day. His heart lifted as he thought of them at the Gryffindor table at mealtimes, in class, the occasional unexpected glimpse in the halls shocking him with the fierce love he felt for them. They were growing up, and didn't want him at their shoulders the whole time. Lily dropped by his rooms to tell him snippets of gossip about classmates, and, he suspected, to make sure he was alright and settling in, though she'd stopped making it a daily thing. He snorted at the reversal of roles. James had inveigled him, with Madam Hooch's blessing, into running a 'Flying for Quidditch' workshop one Saturday a month, and Ron usually joined him for that.  
  
He thought his children had organized his life quite efficiently and quietly. He suddenly realised the teaching position, too - James had been hounding him for years; ever since he'd gotten on the Gryffindor team - ever since that dreadful, cold grey March when Ginny - he and Ginny had gone to James's first few matches, before she'd gotten too big in her pregnancy and felt too unwell to make the trip to Hogwarts. That winter and early spring, when Arthur and Molly had practically moved in; well, Molly had, during February when the house had seemed full of harsh breathing and ominous silences. He shook his head, marked a random 'A' on the essay before him and turned to the next.   
  


* * * * *

  
Al was the odd one out, Harry thought as he spooned porridge to his mouth mechanically, gazing across the students. Madam Pince said he spent a lot of time in the library, that he'd read most of the books he could reach each year. Looking at him sitting alone at the end of the table, two books open, scribbling whilst spooning porridge with about as much attention as Harry, Al seemed to sense his gaze, as he looked up, glanced along the table, then up to meet Harry's eyes with a quick little smile. Harry smiled back, wondering again if he'd been mistaken to weigh the boy down with the two names. Al had never felt as close to him as James or Lily, and he seemed to sit alone with his books. James and Lily were always in the middle of a group of others. James and his mates seemed to spend their time posing and posturing before the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls, and needling the Slytherin boys; he'd had to stop a fight in the corridor yesterday between James and a boy called Stark. It seemed an even match, but worryingly, he'd seen real animosity in James's eyes.   
  


* * * * *

  
Al wasn't to be found in the library, for all that Harry had been told that's where he spent his time. Every time Harry went to research something for his class, he'd looked for his middle child, hoping to maybe speak to him without the other two stealing his attention. Al had always been closer to Ginny, Harry thought ruefully. When he'd fallen apart, and his children and Molly had looked after him, who'd looked after Al? It had been his first year at Hogwarts, and he'd only seen his mother at Christmas, and then right at the end. She'd not had much time or energy for him, and neither had Harry. He filed the mystery of Al's whereabouts to look at later, when he had the time, and took the books he needed for his Dark Creatures module to Madame Pince.   
  


* * * * *

  
When Al came to his rooms, Harry blurted out, amazed, "You're almost as tall as me, now!"  
  
Al, who'd looked uncomfortable a moment ago, laughed, and said, "You always were a bit short, Dad, but never short of an amusing line."  
  
Harry stared at his son, drinking him in until Al wriggled in embarrassment.  
  
"Hey, you have seen me before, honest."  
  
Harry smiled, and waved his very handsome son to the table. The elves had provided a full High Tea, and Al tucked in with the appetite of a fourteen-year-old, but with none of the awkwardness, Harry covertly noticed.  
  
"What is it you're studying?"  
  
Al glanced up, surprised.  
  
"No, I meant outside of your lessons. You spend so much time buried in books - I know the symptoms, I've seen it in Hermione, remember."  
  
Al laughed, then sobered. "I like Defense spells and Charms," he said, obviously leaving something out.  
  
"But your favourite is ..?" Harry prompted.  
  
Al looked at him, a little warily, "Potions."  
  
"Hmm. Maybe your namesake's influence?"  
  
Al stared at him, quite startled, but recovered and said, "Oh. I hadn't thought of -"  
  
"No reason why you should." Harry filed away the reaction for later, and worked to ease the atmosphere again. The tea was turning out to be hard work. He managed to avoid putting his foot in it again for the rest of the conversation.  
  
When Al had left, he marveled at the grace and intelligence of the boy. How had he missed that? He remembered Al as quiet, eager to please, but gangly, all knees and elbows and clumsy with it. And his hair - it was so much less messy now Al had grown it longer. He remembered a boy looking very like himself going off to Hogwarts. He had just had tea with a confident, self-possessed - no - elegant young man. Apart from the awkwardness around Potions, where, Harry suspected, his old prejudice against the subject had made Al wary of admitting his preference. He resolved to purchase some candied pineapple to take to Slughorn, and get an opinion of his son's capabilities.   
  


* * * * *

  
Harry continued to be drawn to the staircase down to the dungeons, and the walk to the corridor to where he'd spent long days in Potions, serving detention, or in those Occlumency lessons, watching Snape move around the room, but the corridor was gone. There was a wall instead, a wall that was impervious to all his Auror's wiles. He started doubting his memories; perhaps the turn left had been a turn right? Maybe it wasn't straight on past the wall sconce? But each time, his footsteps led him to the same spot. He could almost hear the brisk long-legged stride of the Potions Master, hear the soft studied modulation of that voice. He felt a fresh appreciation of the man's skills after the chaos that ensued in his first practical lesson on Expelliarmus with his first years.   
  


* * * * *

  
He asked Minerva, "What's happened to the castle? There's parts of it which seem different, some of the passages and staircases aren't there any more."  
  
"Oh? Well, we had to do quite a bit of rebuilding after the battle."  
  
"But the dungeons? Where Sn - Professor Snape's class used to be?"  
  
She gave him a sharp look, but said airily, "Some parts of the castle were too damaged to repair at the time, so we closed them off. We have ample space for the students."  
  
There was something he wasn't being told.   
  


* * * * *

  
He visited Neville in the greenhouses one evening.  
  
"You came to teach straight after the battle, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes, first I was assisting Pomona, then I took over more and more of the teaching."  
  
"So you've been at Hogwarts pretty much the whole time?"  
  
"Except for summers, and Christmases, of course. I get a lot of collecting done over the summers," he said proudly, gesturing over the greatly expanded greenhouse.  
  
"Mm. Did you help with repairing and restoring the castle? After the battle?"  
  
"Sure. We all helped. I mainly did the greenhouses, grounds and lake. And the Forest with Hagrid, before he went to France with Olympe. They've got two children now, did you know?"  
  
"Yes, I've got pictures."  
  
"Oh, of course you would. Sorry, Harry."  
  
"But who did the dungeons? Were they really badly damaged?"  
  
Neville looked at him quizzically, and started potting an odd squirming purplish-green grub. "Oh, Minerva did that, I think. She had to shore up some of it, infill it, as the rest of the castle could have come down."  
  
"That must have taken some powerful magic."  
  
"Well, she is Headmistress. The castle bends to her."  
  
"Does it? How does that work?"  
  
"The wards - the very walls - the castle is partly sentient. It accepts and feeds the magic of the current Head, and it holds the magic and intentions of previous Heads as well, I think. Wasn't that what the Chamber of Secrets was about? Salazar Slytherin's magic?"  
  
"I think I'd better do as Hermione was always telling me, and read 'Hogwarts - A History'."  
  
But although the book mentioned the magic of the Founders, previous and current Heads of the school, it didn't seem to get Harry further with his mystery of Snape's dungeons. He wasn't even sure why it seemed so important to him, but it did. He kept remembering Snape's hand clutching him, the dreadful rasping voice, his own overwhelming feeling of loss and helplessness and rage at Voldemort. He'd run from Hogwarts after his defeat of Voldemort, unable to put enough distance between himself and the castle. The Auror training had kept him busy enough so he didn't have to think, then marriage to Ginny once she'd graduated, and James coming so soon after, with the others following, had kept the ghosts at bay.   
  


* * * * *

  
Slughorn was his old bombastic self when Harry brought the pineapple round.  
  
"Ah, my favourite! My boy, you remembered. But I was so sorry to learn about your wife; such a spirited girl - at least you have the consolation of three such fine children; three! And your middle child, what a brewer! He equals you in skill and innovation!"  
  
"Does he."  
  
"Oh, yes! From the very first, he was interested, and I congratulate myself in bringing him on - it took him until the Spring term to really start making progress, but there's no holding him back now! Leaps and bounds, that boy, leaps and bounds! Mind you, his grandmother had talent as well - runs in the family, I daresay."  
  
"That's very - pleasing to hear. Of course, you're skilled at other magics too - did you help with the reconstruction of Hogwarts?"  
  
"Indeed I did. When Minerva contacted me - well, I simply had to come and help out. And, as you see, I have been here ever since." Slughorn spread his hands expansively, encompassing the overstuffed, overwarm room full of mementos and knick-knacks and photographs.  
  
"Was there much damage to the old Potions rooms? I'd imagine there were some pretty volatile ingredients down there -"  
  
"Don't really know; I took the upper floors and towers; all the gargoyles, you know? I'm very partial to a good gargoyle. I did the dragons and gryphons on Gryffindor tower, and the eagles and ravens for Ravenclaw, you know. You ought to take a broom up and have a look; don't get too close though; they're rather protective." His vast belly shook with laughter as he hovered over the pieces of pineapple.  
  
"So you didn't recover any of the ingredients from the stores? You had to set everything up from scratch?"  
  
"Indeed, and a hard time we had of it, too. You wouldn't believe the cost of stocking a teaching brewing-room. But Minerva managed to find money every time I thought we'd finally scraped the last sickle from the coffers. She worked miracles. Miracles!"  
  
"Mm. That must have been very difficult. I suppose the Ministry helped?"  
  
"A bit, but they had their hands full, too. I had a word with some of my contacts, you know, Carver, Snipps, and then there was Kerr and Chin in Gringotts, so all in all, we muddled through."  
  
"I could have helped; no one asked me."  
  
"Well yes, dear boy, but we felt - we all felt that you had done enough. More, really than anyone could have asked."  
  
He tried to remember those days right around the end of the war, when he'd defeated Voldemort, but they all seemed to be a haze, as though they'd happened to someone else. Parts were sharp in his mind - Snape's blood on the dusty floor, his voice rasping -look at me- , the light in his black eyes fading, Neville holding Gryffindor's sword aloft, the sudden gleam of the sun rising, looking in the Great Hall afterwards at the long rows of bodies - but most of it felt like a story told too many times; outworn, faded of emotion.  
  
He shook himself, said goodnight to Slughorn, who looked at him with an understanding smile.   
  


* * * * *

  
Flitwick knew no more about the dungeons than the rest of them, it had been Minerva who'd dealt with them, he said; he'd done the ground and first floors.   
  


* * * * *

  
He was sure it was James and Lily; they'd done this sort of thing before. Somehow, he was sitting down to an intimate supper with Anastasia Wainwright, the Astronomy professor. She was young, personable, intense, and utterly not what he wanted.  
  
"My children - "  
  
"Yes. They are quite determined."  
  
He sighed. "I'm sorry. They mean well, but I'm really not at a place yet where I would think of imposing my company on anyone."  
  
She smiled sadly, but with understanding. "I was abroad all through the years of the war, so I don't really know, but I can imagine it would affect you. Just a quiet supper between friends - I hope I might call myself that?"  
  
He nodded wearily.  
  
"Well, then. No worries."  
  
Then she started talking Quidditch, and the evening went by pleasantly enough.   
  


* * * * *

  
When they were lined up before him the next day, he noticed Al was almost embarrassed. James and Lily, however, seemed defiant.  
  
"It's time you were getting out, seeing more people. You spend too much time alone."  
  
"Lily, I am surrounded by people. But I enjoy being alone. I understand that you mean well, but I don't want you arranging any more 'dates' for me. When I decide I wish to see more of someone, I will ask them. I don't need you to make my decisions for me."  
  
He met Al's eyes, and they were sympathetic. James looked narrow-eyed at him, but Lily had that mulish look that said clearly, she was her mother's daughter. He sighed. Ginny would not have given up a campaign just because he asked her to, and he had no hopes that he'd dissuaded Lily.  
  
"But, dad, you don't even see Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione any more."  
  
He realized he had let the monthly get-togethers slip; true, Ron came over for Quidditch, but he hadn't met up with the two of them properly for many months.  
  
"You're right, Lily. Thank you for reminding me. But I still don't need you trying to match make for me."  
  
When they were trooping out, he touched Al's elbow, and the boy, with a swift glance at him said. "You two go on, I want to see about getting some books from Dad."  
  
James laughed and nudged Lily, who shrugged, and Harry looked for a reaction from Al, but his face showed nothing but curiosity when he turned to his father. He considered his son, wondering why he hadn't noticed that Al was shut off from his siblings. He shook his head, said, "I know you weren't a part of all that."  
  
"Well, Lily thinks you should get married again."  
  
"Mm. That won't happen. But she's very determined. She's very like your mother."  
  
"No!" Al shook his head, then seemed to stop and think.  
  
Harry smiled at him. "Remember when you refused to go to school when you were ten? Remember when she decided we all needed to get more exercise?"  
  
Al smiled shyly. "You're right. She did steamroller us a bit. We probably needed it," he added hurriedly.  
  
"No doubt we did. But would you do me a favour? Would you tip me off if Lily starts match making again?"  
  
"Sure. Dad? You really loved Mum, didn't you?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"But you don't want to get married - oh."  
  
Harry looked at him curiously, wondering what he'd worked out.  
  
"Sorry," Al blushed. "You don't need to get married - I mean, you don't want any more kids - do you?" He looked at his father, throughly embarrassed now.  
  
"It took me quite a long time to work out, that if you're in a hole, it's best to stop digging," Harry smiled to take away any hint of a sting.  
  
"But no, I don't want any more children. I also don't want that sort of close relationship at the moment. I can't connect with people that way, and it wouldn't be fair on anyone to pretend I can."  
  
"Oh. Ok. I can sort of see that. I know someone - um, well, I've seen, Uncle George is like that, isn't he?"  
  
"Yes, although that's much worse. I can't imagine how losing someone you've been that close to your entire life would feel. I don't know how you get over that."  
  
They looked at each other, then Al gave him a big hug, the first Harry could remember for a long time.  
  
"You know I love you all? No matter - well - anything you, any of you do, or decide, I love you."  
  
"But you - "  
  
"What?"  
  
Al sighed, not meeting his eyes.  
  
"You know James is interested in Isabella?"  
  
"Is he? Who's Isabella?"  
  
"The Ravenclaw Seeker." Al was peering at him uncertainly, and Harry suddenly understood James's enthusiasm about attending all the Quidditch practices.  
  
"Oh. Ok, well, I guess that's up to him."  
  
"But - I thought - you were always pairing him off with Rose."  
  
"Was I? I didn't mean it like that, Al. James chooses for himself, as do you and Lily. Is that what's been worrying you?"  
  
Al shuffled a little, looking less composed, more like Harry's younger self.  
  
"Al, do you like Rose?" He cast his mind back, but couldn't remember ever seeing them together, ever seeing Al even look at her meaningfully.  
  
"No! But you and Uncle Ron were always talking about James and Rose, Lily and Hugo, and me and - "  
  
"Oh, Al, I'm sorry. We certainly didn't mean it like that. You weren't all betrothed as babies. Did you think we'd arranged marriages for you, and hadn't told you?"  
  
"Well, no - I guess not. But it seemed like you were all hoping we'd pair up ..."  
  
"Ok, then. You're not going to disappoint me, no matter who you choose, or if you choose no one. It's entirely up to you."  
  
Al gave him another of those curious looks, and left.   
  


* * * * *

  
He ran into Grey again, the next time he went down to the dungeons. The boy moved from where he'd seemed to blend into the wall, and Harry went over.  
  
"Hullo. I haven't seen you for a bit," Harry said.  
  
"I don't wait down here especially - sorry, Sir. I've had - things to do."  
  
Harry looked at him curiously. "Are you Slytherin house?"  
  
"I was." The boy tilted his chin defiantly, seeming to be waiting for a rebuff.  
  
Harry smiled. "I don't see you anywhere but down here. Are you a ghost?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you know about the changes to the dungeons? Do you know who made them?"   
  
"After the war, Mi - Professor McGonagall had to close off parts of the dungeons. Some parts are still dangerous. You really shouldn't wander around down here."  
  
Harry leaned back against the wall, next to the young man.  
  
"But I see you down here quite often. Why is that, I wonder?"  
  
"I know the dungeons well."  
  
"You're not a student, you're not a ghost. So, who and what are you? Are you someone in disguise?"  
  
When Harry turned to look at Grey, to see how his guess had been taken, Grey was gone. He shook his head, and examined the area. Traces lingered of a magic that seemed oddly familiar, but nothing he could put his finger on. And the magic gave no clue of how to get into what he was now sure lay behind the apparent wall. He ran his hand over the rough stone, thinking about the hidden passages and rooms of Hogwarts, realizing he'd only found one, the Chamber, in his time at school, where Fred and George had found many. Except, how many had they really found, and how many had come from the Marauders Map? Was there, somewhere, a definitive map of Hogwarts? He shook his head again, and resolved to look in the Forbidden Section for information on the foundations of Hogwarts, the dungeons.   
  


* * * * *

  
Al stood at the wall where Harry normally saw Grey, looking frightened, defiant as Harry came round the corner.  
  
"Al? What is it?"  
  
"N - nothing."  
  
"I come down here quite often. I meet a young man - he says he's not a ghost, but - he calls himself Grey. Do you know him?"  
  
"Yes - I come down and talk with him, too."  
  
"Al? I'm not going to be angry, but I worry about you." He moved to lean against the wall, to give his son space to recover, to think, to talk.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I don't know what you do, where you go. I don't want to know everything, every little detail, but I've lived with secrets and I've seen what it does, what it did; to me, to your mother. Is there anything you can tell me, anything at all?"  
  
"Dad - I'm alright."  
  
But Al was kicking his heel against the wall in that nervous way he had.  
  
"Do you remember when we told all of you about Riddle's diary and the Chamber? That you need to be careful of who and what you trust?"  
  
"It's not like that, Dad! It's - I'm - "  
  
"It's all right, whatever it is. We can get through it. We can get over it."  
  
"We can't 'get over it'. At least, I can't. I'm interested in boys."  
  
Al flushed red with the declaration.  
  
"Oh. Are you interested in Grey?"  
  
"What? No! There's a boy -"  
  
"Ah. Stark." And suddenly, all the little cruelties he'd seen James do, all the tricks and pranks which he'd put down to Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry made a different sort of sense.  
  
"I'll talk to James, get him to lay off."   
  
"No! He'll think I told you. It'll be ten times worse!"  
  
Harry considered his son. "You know I had a rival in Slytherin House when I was at school; Draco. Draco was meant to kill Professor Dumbledore. He became a Death Eater whilst still at school. But if we'd not been enemies, if we'd not had that feud, I wonder if he'd even -" He shook his head. "I can tell James that way. It won't be about you. I have no problems with you and Stark. But do you meet him down here?" He looked around curiously.  
  
"No - I -"  
  
"Does he know?"  
  
"No! I - I can't -"  
  
"Oh, Al. I'm sorry. He's straight, isn't he?"  
  
Suddenly, an awful lot of what he'd been seeing made sense. He looked at his son, so quiet, so often alone, his lips, his feelings held tightly, and grieved that he couldn't prevent his son's pain.  
  
"You'll leave Hogwarts soon enough. There'll be other places, other people. If anyone's bullying you over this, I'd like you to tell me. But it will get better, I promise you that. Has there been no one you could talk to?"  
  
Al's eyes slid to where Grey seemed to appear, and Harry said, "Well, I hope you feel you can talk to me, too. You can't say anything that will make me not love you."  
  
Al was looking at him uncertainly, but only said, "Why do you come down here, Dad?"  
  
"I'm not really sure," Harry gazed at his son, "You know I named you after Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape; well, Professor Snape's office used to be just down here. I never got the chance to talk to him, to apologize, to make things right. I just - wish I could see him again. He always looked after me, he looked after your mum, and Neville - everyone who was here that last year, as much as he could. And all I ever did was accuse him, and hate him, and despise him. By the time I knew, by the time I understood, it was too late. I got him so wrong. I just keep thinking about it. It's never let me go."  
  
Al took his arm. "C'mon, Dad. I think it's time for supper."  
  
They both came out of the dungeons with a lighter step.   
  


* * * * *

  
A few days later, Al met him after lessons.  
  
"Come on, I'd like you to meet someone."  
  
Harry went with him, hoping Al had found a friend, but his heart sank as Al turned down the dungeon stairs. They found Grey standing in his usual place, and Al greeted him familiarly. Grey eyed Harry warily, but Al said, "Come on, you know he's waiting for us."  
  
Grey stepped aside with an ironic flourish, and a door appeared where there had never been one.  
  
Al opened it and went through.  
  
Harry's heart hammered as he stepped through into a cool, dark sitting room. He glanced around curiously; the hangings were a mossy green, the rug an intricate pattern of greens, silver and gold. A fire burned in the large open hearth, before which were two dark brown leather wing chairs. A long pair of black-trousered legs re-crossed themselves, and a voice, harsh, creaky, as if unused to talk, but still recognizable to Harry, said, "Not content with repopulating the world with more Potters to bedevil me, including a particularly irritating one whom you chose to burden with Albus's and my name, you come back to annoy me yourself. Well? Are you going to stand there gaping all day?"  
  
Al smiled, muttering "He's always like that."  
  
"Oh, I know," said Harry.  
  
"I'll just make some tea, shall I?" Al said, a bit louder, and moved to a dark doorway as Harry stepped across to look at the man he'd thought long dead.  
  
There was a portrait above the fireplace, where Grey seemed to move protectively toward Snape, though how a portrait could be protective, Harry couldn't fathom. He moved to the corner of the mantelpiece and stood, absorbing the sight of a man he never thought he'd see alive. Snape seemed somehow diminished; he was still as lean, angular, and sallow as Harry remembered, his nose still announced his presence well before the rest of the face came into view, the black eyes still seemed as deep and dark. If Harry dared, he'd have thrown his arms about the man and hugged him. But Snape's neck was wrapped thoroughly in a dark muffler, he was as pale as Harry had ever seen him, and the indefinable aura of energy about him seemed to be missing, although the black eyes were as sharp and dangerous as ever.  
  
"Well?" Snape repeated in that gravelly voice, "Are you going to stand and stare all day?"  
  
Harry smiled mildly and said, "I'm sorry, Sir. It's just - I never thought to see you again."  
  
"And now that you have?" Snape snapped.  
  
"I'm so glad to see you. I've wanted to apologize, to say that I'm sorry for - well, everything. Ever since I looked at your memories - oh - no - the ones you gave me, I meant," he said hastily.  
  
Al brought a serving tray with teapot, cups and saucers, and proceeded to pour and pass the cups. Snape gave him a small smile when Al pulled up a side table to his chair, then fetched a vial and gave him it.  
  
"I'll just continue with the Wolfsbane," he said and left.  
  
Harry stared after him, a worry gnawing at him. Al seemed very comfortable in these rooms, and Snape seemed very comfortable with him being here.  
  
"Your son is a skilled brewer of potions."  
  
"Mm. So Slughorn tells me."  
  
"If my situation were different, I would offer him an apprenticeship. He could do worse than to think about a career in potions making. If the idea is not distasteful to you?"  
  
"Oh, no - he'll choose what he wants to do; I certainly wouldn't stand against his interests. So long as they harmed no one, and were not harmful to him."  
  
Snape looked at him sharply.  
  
"I am not leading your son into Dark Arts, if that is your concern."  
  
"Oh - no, I certainly didn't think that."  
  
"Your other two appear to be much like yourself in character I understand ; not a thought in their heads besides Quidditch and food."  
  
“Yes, they are – well, maybe with a bit less – destiny?”  
  
Snape snorted, took his cup and sipped.  
  
“But – you? What happened? What are you doing here? What are you doing alive?”  
  
“Oh, really, Mr. Potter. Did you imagine I wouldn't be prepared for The Dark Lord's casual violence?”  
  
“Yes, but – you were dead. And you never came back. You're here, and nobody knows you're here, well, except for Al -”  
  
The dark eyes captured his gaze, held him as intently as he remembered, and he shivered.  
  
“You will not speak of me to anyone. Minerva knows, of course, she arranged my sanctuary here; it could hardly be otherwise.”  
  
“But – what have you been doing?”  
  
“Brewing. Restoring the school. Reading.”  
  
“All alone?”  
  
“All alone, bar the occasional visit from Minerva. Until your pup decided to impose himself upon me.”  
  
“Why? Why would you do this, live like this?”  
  
“It is of no concern to me not to have endless chatter and distractions. And, my enemies are disarmed, not even knowing there is anything to search for. It was an expedient solution to several problems.”  
  
“So you just walled yourself in down here? Sixteen years ago?”  
  
“Hardly immured, but essentially, yes. My contact with the outside world has been very limited, a situation I have found restful.”  
  
Harry noted the weariness, the deep-drawn lines on the pale face, but thought it best not to contradict Snape.  
  
“So, you've been brewing?”  
  
“Mm. Commissions, innovations. Minerva is the external face of the operation. There had to be money raised for restoration, for salaries, for supplies, Potter.”  
  
“But – the Ministry -”  
  
“All funding comes with conditions, any help included ceding some control.”  
  
“What – what control?”  
  
Snape's eyes glittered dangerously.  
  
“Which House produced the main part of the Death Eaters? Can you not imagine what sort of restrictions, what sort of influence the Ministry might wish to impose? Even you cannot be so dense or innocent any more.”  
  
“Is that why the number of pupils is down?”  
  
“Partly.”  
  
Al came back in with a vial, which Snape inspected, then inclined his head.  
  
“Well done, Mr. Potter,” he said.  
  
Harry started, then realised Snape meant Al.  
  
“I am tired. You will speak of me to no one. No one at all.” He glared at Harry.  
  
“Yes, of course. But can I come back?”  
  
“Why would you wish to do that? Your mystery is solved.”  
  
“I – I'd just like to.” He looked at the man's long elegant hands, relaxed on the arms of the chair, followed the arms up to the wrappings round the throat, to the worn, resigned face, and thought he'd like to run his fingers over the crease between the man's brows until it eased, if he dared.  
  
“I'd like to come and talk to you again. May I?”  
  
“As you wish.”   
  


* * * * *

  
He thought that perhaps Snape didn't mind him stopping by as much as he pretended. Al was obviously welcome, though when he'd been there, Al seemed to spend his time brewing rather than talking. He settled into what he now thought of as his chair, putting down the bottle of wine and slices of birthday cake he'd brought on the little side table.  
  
“What might we be celebrating tonight?”  
  
“It's James's birthday. I thought you might like some cake; the elves produced something suitable for about a hundred people. I didn't think anyone would miss two slices. The wine is just for us.”  
  
“Hm. Enjoying James's birthday cake – I would not have thought it.” Snape's mouth twitched in what Harry interpreted as a smile.  
  
“I imagine most of the Gryffindors will be feeling subdued tomorrow, and I may have a quiet day.”  
  
“You are finding the teaching to your liking?”  
  
“It's interesting, and a relief after the Aurors.”  
  
“I should imagine you have no trouble controlling your classes, having brought up three children, as well as being able to call on your fame?”  
  
“The fame bit lasted all of three days, then the fifth years decided to see if Aurors were as tough as they were reputed to be.”  
  
“And were they?” Snape inquired, delicately sipping his wine.  
  
Harry laughed, “Well, I took some points, pitted the two main troublemakers against each other in a duel, and they've all been pretty good since then.”  
  
“Acting on impulse and the spur of the moment as ever, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“It seems to be my strong point.”  
  
"So I suppose it was natural for you to assume, as your wife was a Weasley, that you could defy Fate? Or did you merely not consider the consequences as ever?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Three children, Potter?"  
  
"Yes, so?"  
  
"Ah. It was ignorance, then."  
  
"Professor, would you please tell me what you're talking about? Because I haven't got a clue."  
  
"Did you never wonder why so many in the wizarding world were jealous of the Weasley clan?"  
  
"Were they? I didn't know they were. It seemed more like certain people despised them for being poor."  
  
"Hm. Concealed, of course, but it was jealousy. Seven children. Seven!"  
  
"Yeah, I know." Harry said, still confused.  
  
"Most families consider themselves lucky to have one child. At the most, two."  
  
"Yes - I did wonder about that. I thought it was through choice."  
  
Snape looked sidelong at him, "Well, it is, in a way. Witches - Potter, are you telling me no one informed you of this?"  
  
"No! What are you talking about?"  
  
"Witches generally can't bear more than one or two children without harm to themselves or their offspring. It's one of the reasons for Magic-Muggle marriages, and even then, the parties involved are very careful."  
  
"What? You mean - "  
  
"I am surprised you weren't told."  
  
"No - no one said anything. Ginny - she wanted more children, and I thought -"  
  
"Then, I am sorry to be the one to inform you, Mr. Potter."  
  
Harry sat there in a daze, shaking his head. Had Ginny known?  
  
"But - how did Mrs. Weasley know? How come it worked for them?"  
  
"The Weasleys have always been more prolific - genetics. And Molly, of course, was a Prewett, so that helped. Did you imagine the Wizarding world's obsession with blood lines was mere inheritance law and purity?"  
  
"I didn't know," Harry whispered.  
  
"And no one thought to enlighten you."  
  
Harry looked into the dark eyes, and thought there might be something like sympathy there.  
  
He hoped he wasn't fooling himself, and dropped his gaze to the long clever hands holding the teacup.  
  
"You always did tell me the things no one else would. Thank you for that."  
  
They both stared into the fire in silence for a while.  
  
"I've been searching for a reason for her death. I couldn't accept it was just random. There were too many random deaths in my life."  
  
"Indeed. But sometimes, Mr. Potter, things just happen. Sometimes, you just have to accept, and continue with your life."  
  
"Harry."  
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"Please, call me Harry."  
  
Snape's eyes held his for a long moment, then he inclined his head stiffly. Harry felt a little flicker of warmth. The man had not been spitting out the 'Mr. Potters' as he'd used to, but somehow, if he could get Snape to see him, not the boy he'd taught, he thought he'd be part of the way to - where? He wasn't sure, and realised he'd been staring at the pale face for far too long.  
  
He shook his head, said, "I'm sorry, I drifted away there for a moment."  
  
Harry noticed the settling of Snape's face into its usual lines more than he'd registered the presence of something else, a softer look, before.  
  
"You mentioned genetics - has anyone studied heredity in the Wizarding world? Did Vol -"  
  
He stopped at the flinch Snape gave at the name. His former teacher gathered himself, but Harry forestalled him.  
  
"Sorry. Most of the time, I follow Dumbledore's saying of, fear of the name -. What would you prefer I called him?"   
  
"Mr. Potter -"  
  
"Harry."  
  
"Harry, then. You -"  
  
He treasured the sound of his name coming from Snape's lips so much, he nearly missed the next part of the sentence.  
  
"- you, of all people, have earned the right to call him what you please."  
  
"How about Tom? Dumbledore used to call him that to annoy him."  
  
Again, he saw the slight relaxing of the deeply-ingrained lines.  
  
"As you wish. But no, there has been no proper study of the causes, the sources of any genetic problems. You surely have realised by now that logic is not a particularly valued trait in Wizardkind?"  
  
"Mm. Hermione said as much in my first year here."  
  
"No, it's all tales and superstitions, ingrained beliefs and sayings."  
  
"So no one knows why? No Muggleborn has pursued it?"  
  
"Most Muggleborns seem not to have much of a scientific bent. At least, they seem to lose it on entering our world if they had it in the first place."  
  
"But you - you're logical. You reason things out."   
  
"My interests have never lain in genetics and birthrights. It has never been a concern of mine, as I would never have children."  
  
"No? Is that because of my mum?"  
  
"No, Mr. Potter, it is due to my own inclinations."  
  
There was a definite snap to the man's tone that told Harry that subject was closed.  
  
To Harry's relief, Al came in and said, "I've finished the next stage. I'll be back tomorrow. Oh, Dad - I just remembered - you're due another supper with Professor Wainwright."  
  
"Oh - thanks." Harry was surprised to see Snape grimacing as he rose.  
  
"You'll not want to be tarrying here, Potter."  
  
Harry noticed he held his whole right side stiffly - "I'm sorry; I don't want to outstay my welcome."  
  
“And you will not say anything of my presence here to anyone,” Snape commanded.  
  
The portrait glowered at him, and the atmosphere seemed to have cooled several degrees. He felt confused, unsure what had just happened. He and Al went out, and he asked Al to stop for a cup of tea, but the boy claimed homework, and vanished up the stairs.   
  


* * * * *

  
He went down to the dungeons twice without seeing Grey, and finally cornered Al.  
  
"Did I say something I shouldn't have the other evening?"  
  
"No, I don't think so. What did you talk about?"  
  
"Oh, just about wizarding tradition, mainly. Al, when did you first meet Professor Snape?"  
  
"My first year. In the spring."  
  
"After your mum died."  
  
"Yes. I could talk to him, Dad. You were all busy."  
  
"Was that what you did? Talk to him?"  
  
"Yes - he let me help him in his potions lab. And he let me talk to him. He always grouched about it, like he did with you, but he always let me talk. He helped a lot."  
  
"How did you get in there in the first place?"  
  
"Oh, that bit of the dungeons is the quietest place - no one ever goes there. After a while, I noticed Grey hanging around. Then he started talking to me, and one day, Snape opened the door."  
  
"I'm sorry, Al, but I have to ask. Is talking all you've done?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Has he ever touched you?"  
  
"What? Oh, you mean - no! Nothing like that! He - his whole right side is not good - I think it's a bit paralyzed. It's worse sometimes. I help him with the potions. And we talk. I told him - about liking guys. And he said the same as you, that it'll get better. I like him, Dad, he's really smart, and funny, but not like that. I don't like him like that."  
  
Al looked at him, concerned. "Do you think - is he alright, Dad? He doesn't talk to anyone; it's always been me doing the talking. He was talking more to you than I think he's said to me the whole time I've been going down there."  
  
"Al - I'd like to speak to him again. Something happened - maybe I said something I didn't realise - maybe something else. But I can't get in; Grey doesn't come out. Please tell him I'm sorry if I did something wrong; I didn't mean it. But I don't know what it was."  
  
Al looked at him a bit doubtfully, but nodded.  
  
"I'm going down tonight. I'll tell him, but I can't promise -"  
  
"I know. I know what he's like. But will you at least mention it?"   
  


* * * * *

  
Harry went down late that evening and stood at the false wall.  
  
"I'm assuming you can hear me, otherwise I'm going to look really silly. But I don't suppose you'll find that strange. I don't know what I did to upset you. Whatever it was, I'm sorry. I thought - well, I thought we had a normal conversation, and I was so glad to see you - I'm sorry if I said something wrong. I wanted to thank you for being kind to Al, and for looking after him, teaching him potions, and talking to him, letting him talk. I didn't know; it was just when his mother died, and I don't think I was paying attention to anything very much. I thought you were gone, and I'd never get a chance to see you and speak to you again, but now I know you're alive, and I don't think I can bear it - "  
  
The door opened, and the gravelly voice said, "If I have to listen to any more of that drivel, Potter, I shall have to complete the job Nagini started."  
  
Harry stumbled in and stared at Snape slowly moving back to his chair. He followed to the two chairs, and moved his chair around so he could see the man.  
  
"What was it? What did I do? Or not do?"  
  
Snape glared at him, but only said, "Fetch the brandy. And two glasses, if you'd care for some."  
  
Remembering what Al had said, he moved the side table up to Snape's left side before placing the bottle and two glasses, and pouring them a measure each.  
  
He didn't merit a smile, but Snape's mouth twitched. Grey watched, hostile, from the frame above the mantel. Harry handed Snape his glass, shivering a bit when the long cold fingers touched his, then sat.  
  
"Will you please stop staring at me."  
  
"I can't help it," Harry said, flushing, but noticing Snape's eyes hadn't left him, either.  
  
"Did you have a good supper?"  
  
"Hm? It was alright, I suppose." He couldn't think what he'd eaten - not much, he guessed.  
  
"Anastasia not to your liking?"  
  
"No - OH! No! She's not - I mean, no. It was all Lily's fault."  
  
"Potter -" Snape closed his eyes. "Naming your children after your parents creates confusion in conversations. Did you never think of the problems?"  
  
"No. I never got to say my parents' names. I don't think I can ever say their names enough."  
  
He stared at Snape openly. "And I think it would only be you who would confuse my daughter with my mother. Do you have the same difficulty with my son?"  
  
Snape stared back. "I did when Albus was having difficulties over him hexing that Slytherin boy."  
  
"Hmm. Touche, I think."  
  
He looked up, startled, when Grey slid out of the portrait; Snape was still looking at him when his eyes returned.  
  
"I believe your son has appropriated your invisibility cloak."  
  
Al walked in, shrugging the cloak off, and stopped, looking between them.  
  
"Oh! Hi, Dad, Professor. I'll just go and see to the - um."  
  
When the door closed behind him, Harry looked at Snape carefully. "I asked him if anything besides talking had gone on," he said levelly.  
  
Snape said nothing, just looked at him over the glass.  
  
"He said not. I wouldn't have asked him, but he told me he was attracted to men."  
  
There was still no reply, so Harry continued, "You have been a good influence on him, I can see that. Are you going to make it a habit, to watch over Lily's descendants, to watch over Potters?"  
  
"Only the ones that need it -"  
  
"Well, I imagine there'll be more coming along sometime."  
  
"- for as long as they need it." Snape concluded with a growl, and Harry felt a shiver down his spine.  
  
He finished his brandy and decided. It had been too long, too many times that he'd doubted him; it was time he trusted Snape. Besides, he trusted Al. He stood, walked over to the other chair, put down his glass, laid his hand gently on the black-clothed shoulder.  
  
"I'd better be off; I've got early classes tomorrow. May I come to see you again?"  
  
"I doubt I can stop you."  
  
Grey had a little smirk as Harry turned, and Al came out of the labs.  
  
"It's all good - you leaving, Dad?  
  
"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"Hang on - do you need me for anything else, Sir?" When Snape shook his head slowly, Al strode over to Harry saying, "I'll walk back up with you."  
  
Harry finally broke the gaze he'd held with Snape to turn to go with his son.  
  
"He looked brighter tonight," Al said as they separated at the portrait of the Fat Lady.   
  


* * * * *

  
The next day he went down, Grey made no complaint, but let him straight in.  
  
"I hadn't thought I'd see you again quite so soon."  
  
"I told you. I wanted to see you."  
  
"You seem to be unable to stop looking at me, Potter."  
  
"Mm. You don't seem to avoid looking at me either, you know."  
  
"What are you doing here, Potter?"  
  
"I believe I'm following my daughter's advice, and seeking company. Do you have any problems with following Lily's advice?"  
  
"I haven't. I believe I should have done better to heed Lily's advice sooner."  
  
"But I think then, I should have had a much more difficult task."  
  
"Possibly."  
  
Harry came to stand before him, asking, "You did love her then, didn't you?"  
  
Snape snorted. "What I knew of love then would have fitted in a thimble. Sit down, Potter. You are straining my neck."  
  
Harry waved his hand to stretch Snape's chair into a two seater, and sat.  
  
"And now?"  
  
"As I said; what I know of love -"  
  
Harry moved his mouth to Snape's quickly, before he could think about it and get nervous.  
  
As kisses went, he thought dreamily, softening and exploring the thin lips, it wasn't bad at all. He slid his hand into the hair and found himself pulled back by bony fingers in his own hair.  
  
"Are you serious about this?"  
  
Harry nodded, caught in the black eyes. This, now - this looked like the old Snape, fierce, intense, focussed.  
  
"I don't share. I am possessive and jealous."  
  
"Children. You have to share me with my children," he gasped.  
  
Harry felt as if a black tide was overwhelming him, dragging him down, a knee pushed his legs apart, the growl filled his ears as his lips, his neck were bitten.  
  
"Only them. No one else."  
  
He pressed up into the darkness and clung on, whispering, "No one else. No one else."   
  


* * * * *

  
He came to with Snape's fingers running through his hair. The petting stopped as soon as Snape realised he was awake.  
  
"I might have to send you back if you continue to faint," the voice growled in his ear, and he shivered again.  
  
"No - I - it's just too much, so strong ..."  
  
Snape's black eyes were intense, hungry, and he wondered how he'd ever lived without this. It felt like Snape was absorbing his whole self, that there was nothing he wouldn't see, no part of him that wouldn't be touched, and he cast himself, open, into the blackness.   
  


* * * * *

  
" ... come back, come back."  
  
He opened his eyes, and blushed. "I fainted again, didn't I?"  
  
Snape looked down at him and asked, "Do you wish to stop?"  
  
"No!" he gasped, wrapping arms and legs round the man.  
  
"Then we take this into the bedroom. I do not care to try to explain to Albus why his father is unconscious in my arms."  
  
"I don't know anything about this, you know? I've never been with a man."  
  
"Well, you obviously understand the general principle."  
  
"Yes, I just thought - " but Harry knew it had been worth it to see the hunger increase in Snape's eyes.  
  
"It's been a long time, since you slept with anyone?" Snape murmured as he peeled back Harry's robe.  
  
"Mm. Since Ginny died."  
  
"And before then? Just your wife?"  
  
"Yes. I never wanted anyone else. Her - you."  
  


* * * * *

  
Snape seemed to be in a dream; he was moving his fingers, slowly carding them through the hair in Harry's armpit, running them through again and again. He lifted his hand to his nose, and his nostrils flared as he seemed to drink in the scent, to glory in it. His lips lightly moved over Harry's chest, his eyes drifting shut in meditation as he continued to slide his fingers into the armpit hair. Harry had never been touched like this; with Ginny, it had usually been strong and fierce and hurried, or sometimes soft and gentle, but never this. Never this moment that seemed to stretch out forever, and he had an instant of doubt, wondered what he was doing, in bed with a man, a man who'd done his best to make his schooldays intolerable. He looked at the sharp, worn face, the lines scoring the forehead, the scarred neck and jaw, and he was seeing someone new, someone that had no connection with his memories, no link to their past. Snape was smiling. He looked more closely, to be sure - the black eyes opened, looked at him, and seemed to withdraw a little from the place they had been in. "What? What is it? Do you not -"  
  
But Harry brought his hand up to the bony, unbeautiful, perfect face in a long caress, and whispered, "No, don't stop. I just wanted to look at you, to see you."  
  
And as Severus settled again into his meditative touching, his hand drifting down to slide through the hair at Harry's groin, he whispered again, "To see you."   
  
  


-end-


End file.
